The Inn Between Loads
by tklivory
Summary: Ever wonder where the NPC's go after the game arranges their demise, or where they hang out until the game summons them to a prepared cut scene? Welcome to the Inn Between Loads, where any character can sit back, relax, and commiserate with someone else about the crap they go through. Regardless of what game they started in, there's always something that can drive an NPC to drink!
1. Time for a Break

He sat at the bar with a mug in his hands, trying to decide if he should drink or not. It seemed a bit rude to start before the one he was waiting for arrived, but he _needed_ the drink, even if he _was_ dead. A hand of long, elegant bones entered his view, and he looked up to his host, who nodded silently, empty eye sockets twinkling with a light deep within, and pointed to the door where a man of average height but more-than-average presence had just entered. He nodded and flipped a sovereign - or at least, the memory of one - onto the bar, then turned and walked to the new arrival, holding out his hand in welcome.

"Good to see you again," he greeted as they shook hands firmly. "Wasn't sure when you'd get back."

The other man chuckled softly, sunglasses hiding his remaining eye, if not the scar that ran through the other one, as he handed his huge sword to the creature whose job it was to maintain the peace in this rather odd establishment. "Yes, well, I had to make sure they actually figured out how to get rid of Sin the _right_ way. Kids." The two men shared a glance of silent, understanding camaraderie. "Besides, you know I always get to spend more time with my little herd than you do." He grimaced. "More's the pity. Especially when they laugh." He shuddered.

The first man laughed boisterously as they went to sit at their game - simple checkers in this case, one of the few games everyone who frequented here seemed to know at least one version of - and began to set the discs for play. "I recently returned myself. Last time it was a cocky young dwarf girl with pigtails trying to make sure her sister wouldn't get hurt because of her own missteps. This time..." He tugged at his earring, forehead furrowing. "This time it was a young... ah, _lady_ from Highever with an interesting speech pattern who kept trying to get her hands on my sword before we reached Ostagar."

The other man's single eye flickered to the weapon-keeper. "I've never seen your sword. I didn't think you had one."

He groaned. "Not _that_ sword," he said, then added, just to make sure the man understood, "the _other _sword. The one that, I hope, you still have." He studied the pieces before him, then made his first move. "Sadly, my blades always end up stuck in some ogre. I just hope this one bought the DLC. I'd hate for them to stay there."

The other man blinked, then grunted. "Interesting. Well, I should count myself lucky I never had to deal with that." He freed his arm from its normal resting place in the sling of his tunic and reached forward to respond accordingly, pushing his piece in counterpart to the other's move.

The man raised a dark eyebrow, emphasizing the lines in his forehead. "What? Sword grasping from Rikku or DLC?" He reached out and jumped a disc, taking one of the man's pieces before settling back in his chair and taking that long-sought-after drink, draining the mug in one gulp. _And if I never hear the phrase _bee tee em _ever again, I will remain happily dead._

The man shook as his head as he took a sip from his jug of nog that never left his side, much to the skeletal bar owner's discontent, though his white skull couldn't show the frown. "Both. Too bad I never get to meet Paine." He took a deep sip, then made his own move. "The differences between our lots in life fascinate me, even if, technically, I am dead while I'm there. I go back each playthrough wondering only how many times I will fall in battle and how much time will be spent on matters of only negligent importance to the ultimate goal of defeating Sin. I never have to worry about who I'm going to meet, or what they will choose to do." He watched the man across from him closely, waiting for his next action.

"Oh, don't remind me," he groaned, running a hand back to his tight queue. "After a month of trying to... well, of traveling to Ostagar, the first thing she did was try to drag the King off to a tent. The _King!"_ He eagerly took the new mug full of alcohol, dropped off by their black-cloaked host, and drained it in one gulp. "And he _agreed!"_ The mug landed on the table with a bit more force than necessary. "No wonder the battle was so poorly planned," he groused. "And Maker preserve Ferelden, that such as she became a Warden. I hope Alistair took my warning seriously."

The other man's eyebrow rose, waiting for his friend's fit to pass. "Hopefully the next one will at least treat you with a trifle more respect than this one apparently did."

The Warden shook his head and pinched his nose with a heavy sigh. "It doesn't matter, I suppose. As long as the Archdemon is killed, I shouldn't care _who_ does it." Taking up yet a third mug, nodding in acknowledgment to the host, he muttered under his breath, "Hopefully she'll be able to do it without breaking a fingernail." He reached out and blindly moved a piece, trying to push his latest recruit from his mind.

Across from him, the ronin drank more of his nog, concealing a rare smirk. "At least I got to fight this time. Last time it was Rikku and Lulu, every battle, all the time." He shook his head. "And many, many restores. Poor Lulu. Her back was sore after all that leaning over." Rolling his eye, he reached forward and jumped one of his opponent's pieces. "So, hoping for a nice straightforward warrior next, I assume?"

"Maker, I hope so." The room stirred slightly as a tall man with dark hair entered, adjusting the fit of his head on his neck ever so slightly before handing his weapon over. "Ah, so she made _that_ choice. Interesting, considering that she claimed Anora was her best friend."

The man turned and watched as the dignified man spotted them and headed to their table. "Well, Tidus fights Sin even after learning that it's really his father. Sometimes the end result is more important than who you fight along the way."

The Warden didn't have a chance to acknowledge the words as the old general came to a halt next to their game and collapsed into a nearby chair. "How on Thedas a child like that came from Bryce and Eleanor is beyond me," he said in a weary voice. "Hopefully she treats the Archdemon with a bit more respect than she did the Landsmeet." Absently he accepted the drink handed to him by their skeletal host. "Though at least she arranged for Anora's future. That was... unexpectedly thoughtful of her."

_*Duncan!*_

The hollow, empty voice echoed through the enclosed space, sending a shiver up all of their backs. The Warden looked over to their host, who now stood next to the portal that only he controlled. "Astonishing. She killed Archie," he murmured. Standing, he exchanged a quick handshake with Auron and Loghain. "Until next time," he said gruffly, receiving a nod in return from each.

Approaching the one who had summoned him, he said, "I am ready."

The light deep within those hollow sockets flared. _*Excellent.*_ The skeletal hand in its black sleeve swept to the portal. _*Better luck this time.*_

Taking a deep breath, Duncan stepped forward. "Thank you."

A flash, a breath, and he was standing in a study with Irving and Greagoir, again listening to their argument about mages in Ostagar. _Hopefully a calm, studious mage, this time. A nice, _normal_ young recruit would be... a change._

He sharpened his gaze as someone entered the room, and he felt his jaw drop slightly as a thin elf entered with short, vibrant and, above all, _purple_ hair above his newly minted mage robe.

Closing his eyes for a few moments, he thought to himself, _He _still _can't be as bad as the last one._ Taking a preparatory breath, he opened his eyes and began it all over once more.

"Gentlemen, please! Irving, someone is here to see you."

.

* * *

.

_If you like this concept and want more, let me know. Otherwise, I'm labeling this as random brain meanderings..._


	2. Assassins Unite

It was a busy night at the Inn Between Loads. Though the proprietor was, as always, silent on the reasons behind why the Inn's clientele seemed to fluctuate on an almost weekly basis, his cool gaze of stars kept careful watch of all those who came and went, tending to his tasks with a silent dedication that none noticed and listening to his patrons' complaints about their misadventures with far more amusement than his skull showed.

Still, even for the tall hooded skeleton with star blue eyes and the dedication of a faithful bloodhound, there were times when he had to leave the Inn in charge of another so he could attend to... more _pressing _matters. After all, his warrior friend required some assistance of his own, and now it was his turn to wield his scythe to save humanity. For a time, anyway.

Thus it was that when Zevran Arainai walked through the familiar entrance of the Inn, grumbling to himself that he hadn't even been given a _chance_ to persuade that rather handsome young dwarf with the intriguing mark on his face to spare him. With a sigh, he handed over his weapons to the... individual who kept track of all the weaponry that passed through the doors of the Inn and tried to pass within. As usual, the large hand moved in front of him and turned palm up, waiting. With a chuckled, Zevran deposited his hidden knives and, when the hand refused to budge, his secret poinard. "Keen as always, my friend. What would we do without you, so silent and vigilant?"

The hand withdrew, and Zevran was allowed to pass. He was pondering his continued desire to needle the doorman when his eyes landed on the vision behind the bar, and it was _not _ a skeleton this time. Oh, no, now a tall, elegant human of striking beauty was behind the bar, her pure white hair accented with a streak of black. Though she was cleaning the bar and pouring drinks to take to the tables, he found it difficult to accept that such beauty must be sullied by something so mundane as _serving drinks_, and decided he should get to know her better. After all, the introduction of new servers at the Inn was a rare and precious event.

He took one of the few empty tables and raised his hand, waiting for her nod of acknowledgment. Setting a final drink on her tray, she began wending her way through the floor of the Inn, giving Zevran ample opportunity to admire the way she bent over to set the drinks on the table - or perhaps, admiring what happened underneath that dress of hers as she did so. As she was delivering the final drink, however, the man who had ordered it gently took her hand and brought it to his face, and the woman tried to pull it back without much success.

His attention turned to the one who had elicited such a reaction. _I... don't think I've run into him before. An... interesting outfit, to say the least._ He wore a wide-brimmed hat similar to that of John Marston, a man Zevran had quickly formed a friendship with when they had realized the similarity of their backgrounds. _What did he call it? Ah, yes, a _cowboy_ hat. _Shaking his head, Zevran continued his examination of this new individual: black cowboy hat, long brown hair tied back in a queue, a brown trenchcoat, fingerless gloves and an oversized but empty holster at his hip. Now intrigued, and curious if this fellow was also an acquaintance of Marston, he left his table and approached them. _Satisfy my curiosity about both the man and woman - the plan cannot fail._

Sliding into the seat at the same table - not an unusual behavior at the Inn, certainly, where one's time in the Inn was sometimes short-lived and friendships were held close - he grinned at the man and woman. "Pardon me, but I could not help noticing that you were making the acquaintance of our lovely hostess. Surely you did not intend to keep such glory exclusively at your side? Other men have needs as well, my friend." Ah, how he loved the play of words. The woman blushed in a rather fetching fashion. _Ah, she has the knack of that fine art, that is certain,_ he observed with admiration. "Forgive the observation, my lady, but may I say that your blush is like the finest rose on skin as delicately pale as yours? A shame you must attend to your duties, but perhaps I could assist you if you desired it?"

She smiled at him. "No, thank you. It is my duty to tend the Inn when my grandfather is otherwise occupied." Her eyes moved over his famous tattoo. "Zevran Araiani? You're in his notes. You will want Antivan ale, then?" Her gaze grew more chill as she looked at Zevran's table companion. "And I believe you, sir, I have already helped."

"Ah, my dear, you have read my mind if not my heart," Zevran said with a grin, though his mind filed away the _grandfather_ mention for later scrutiny. "And please, do not mind my young friend here. Can you blame a parched man for drinking in such loveliness as yourself?"

The chill faded, and the small points of blue light that seemed to be emerging from the back of her gaze likewise disappeared, and she sighed. "No, I suppose not. I'll be back shortly."

Zevran turned his attention to the young man, even though he would have rather watched the lady's leavetaking. Holding out his hand, he said, "Zevran Arainai. Zev to my friends."

The man - very young, younger than Zevran had originally thought - looked at the hand before sighing and presenting his own. "Irvine Kinneas. Irvine to my friends... when I have any."

"Ah, now that is a sad, sad statement. Why would such a handsome lad such as yourself lack for companionship?" He had a hunch why, but part of the solution was in making Irvine understand this.

"You tell me. I tend to think that people just can't handle me, you know? A lot of greatness bottled up in this great bod." His hand tapped his chest, an arrogant grin coming to his face. "Just because I'm holding out for that someone special doesn't mean that I can't appreciate the view along the way, you know?"

Zevran chuckled. _Ah, the arrogance of youth. I know I must have been young like that, but not, I think, lately._ "This is very true, my friend. Still, sometimes, I have noticed, there are those who prefer to be admired rather than sniffed."

Irvine's brow wrinkled, but before he could comment, the white-haired beauty returned, putting Zevran's drink in front of him. "Your order, ser. Am I to assume that you returned here rather earlier than you expected? Do you wish your room prepared?"

"Ah, you are indeed quite kind, my lady. I would be most grateful." He patted her arm companionably, allowing his fingers to linger just a moment or two longer than absolutely necessary, but not enough to be an imposition. "Since it is likely I will be here longer than is my usual span, perhaps I could tell you tales that it seems you have not heard yet? Your grandfather I have bored to enough tears, but I do not see any such moisture on your cheeks. That hardly seems fair, now, does it?"

The woman laughed. "We shall see. Oh, I can see that Grandfather was right about you."

"You wound me, my dear. You haven't even heard my poetry yet."

"Maker willing, I never will," she muttered, and they shared a laugh. "Let me know when you need a refill."

As she wandered away, both men indulged in 'the view', but only one of them truly enjoyed it. "How did you- Have you met her before?" Irvine asked.

"Hmm, no. But all lovely ladies should be treated with respect and admiration, I find. It usually inclines them more kindly towards you." He deliberately blocked a particular cynical but beautiful shapeshifting witch from his memory and grinned as he hefted his ale. "Let me guess, you try to convince them that life is not complete without you from the very first words? With this woman, for example, what did you do to make her react so?"

The other man frowned, boyish face serious. Yes, quite a _handsome_ young the thought, he forced himself to pay attention to the other's words.

"I... I just told her that the man of her dreams had arrived, and kissed her hand. I didn't really force it on her. Did I?" He sighed. "Man, even here in the Inn it's complicated. I'd hoped at least that a woman who didn't know me wouldn't treat me like... like-"

"A boy desperate for attention? Someone who would take anybody? A man interested in only one thing?" He downed half his drink while Irvine mulled over his words. "Ah, but you chose a very poor opening line. _You_ told _her_ what she should desire. Very bad judgment. A gentle compliment usually works, or a warm but neutral greeting. Even if you are trying to impress her in a specific, bed-related fashion, you should still show more interest in what _she_ wants rather than telling her what you think she _should_ want." He delicately licked a line of ale from his lip. "A common error, I assure you, and there are some women who, sadly, have such poor esteem of themselves that it works. Obviously, of course, our hostess is not among that number." His smile faltered as he thought of how many of the women - and men, for that matter - he'd been sent to assassinate over the years had fit in the latter category. Again pushing the darker thought away, he said, "Come, come, let me demonstrate."

Irvine hesitated, his reluctance evident. "...How?"

"I shall treat you as if I were trying to attract your attention. It is merely an exercise, of course, but I think a valuable one, if you wish to make a better impression on the ladies. I only wish to help you master the ability to woo women correctly, after all. It is, I am sad to say, a dying art form, and I am always pleased to find someone else willing to worship at that altar, so a little training on my part would not be amiss, no?"

The young man mulled it over for a while as he drank some of his beer, then shrugged. "All right, we'll play it your way. Shoot."

"Excellent." He settled back in his seat and assumed one of his most charming smiles. "That is a most intriguing holster at your side. I admit that I am not familiar with such matters, being a dagger man myself. Tell me, how did you come by such a large tool and the skill to wield it?"

Irvine brightened. "What, my gun? Well, that's quite a tale, actually." Just as Zevran planned, the young man began talking about his weapon - though, sadly, the innuendo seemed to go straight over his head. As he progressed through the tale, Zevran interacted with him quite subtly, with various nods, exclamations, and questions to show that he was indeed listening and not merely looking at Irvine and drinking. Eventually he began to lean forward, noting with amusement that, as planned, the other man mimicked his shift of posture, until they were both leaning over the table, as intimate as the furniture between them could allow. _Ah, yes, even on this one the technique works._

"A sniper? Hmm, so you assassinate people as well?" He slapped a palm lightly on the surface of the table and turned it up to illustrate his words. "So few understand what it is like to hold another's life so _intimately_ in their hand. It is indeed a marvel to meet a kindred spirit in this place."

If anything, this made Irvine lean in more, draining the last of his beer as his face sobered. "Yeah. I... I'm trained in it, but I don't have a lot of actual targets under my belt. Not people, anyway. But... the closing of the mind to all else while I sit there, my rifle in my hands... The focus, on just my fingers, my arms, and that blot at the other end of the scope... Knowing that just a tiny bit of a flex of the finger means _poof_ - that blot will just become so much dead weight..." He looked down at his hand, flexing his finger tightly before relaxing it, then clenched his whole fist.

"There is nothing like it," Zevran said quietly. "So different from killing in passion or defense or battle. Ending a life is an odd sense of power, thrill, and terror all at once."

Irvine's eyes snapped up to meet his, and Zevran suddenly realized that no-one had ever said such a thing to him. _So sad, when an assassin is more alone than he needs to be._ "Yeah," the man said. "Exactly."

Sensing that the mood needed to change before it got - Maker forbid - _depressing, _Zevran turned to the lovely hostess and signaled for refills. After she nodded at him, he regarded Irvine with a small smile on his face and said, "Now, my friend, tell me in truth: how do you feel towards me?"

A ripple of emotions played across Irvine's face, and he suddenly sat back as if just now realizing how close to Zevran he had allowed himself to be drawn. After a few moments of discomfiture and glancing around the room, a rueful grin settled on his face as he turned back to Zevran. "Like I wish you were a woman. Damn, you're right. I really gotta change my angle of attack. I never thought-" He stopped, clapping his mouth shut as the hostess stopped by the table and began to distribute their drinks.

Zevran nudged the sharpshooter's foot under the table, hard enough to break through the man's distraction. He couldn't say anything, but he nodded his head towards the woman with a _Come on!_ expression on his face before taking his drink and standing. "Forgive me, but I must depart. I see a good friend just entered, and would like to have a word with him."

Without looking back, he worked his way to the man dressed in white and red, settling back to enjoy his Antivan ale with a slight smirk on his face.

"Why the amusement, _amico?_"

Zevran noticed that his fellow assassin was also watching Irvine try his new 'angles' on the ravishing hostess, though that probably had more to do with the fact that, from where they sat, her dress was falling over her derriere in a most fetching fashion. Ezio did indeed have a fine eye for the ladies. "That one is trying to impress the rather lovely new hostess who is, apparently, the granddaughter of our rather more skeletal mainstay in the Inn. He seems to be doing better than last time, when he was working towards a slap from said beauty."

Indeed, Irvine had managed to elicit a smile from the previously stern-faced woman, and was listening most attentively as she talked. After a minute, she sat down at the table with him and began to talk with him more animatedly.

"He seems to be doing well indeed. I've seen him in here before, attempting to attract the attention of some of the ladies that pass through. He always seemed to end up a _triste cucciolo _rather than a _stallone forte._ Even Leonardo could do better than him." He sipped from his wineglass thoughtfully. "But then, I suppose even I had to fail a few times in that arena before I learned the ways of women. He will learn."

"Ah, yes, I do believe he will. Though of a different sort, he is as we: a killer of silent grace and deadly necessity. The women eventually find us all irresistible, yes?"

With a cocky grin, Ezio raised his glass to Zevran, inviting a toast. "To assassins! We always get our mark, whether it is inscribed in the use of a dagger or of another blade entirely!"

"Now _that_ is a sentiment I can toast to! To assassins!"

Their glasses clinked, but before Zevran was able to drink it, a slap echoed through the room, followed quickly by the sound of a drink being poured over someone's head, and they looked over in time to see the delectable woman walking away from Irvine with stiff shoulders and a huff, leaving the sniper in a sad little pool of alcoholic failure.

Zevran looked at Ezio. "Well, I tried. Perhaps _you_ could give him some pointers, yes?"

"_Bene_, give me the difficult task of picking him up after such a poor outcome." Ezio drained his wine glass as he stood. "Still, he has some potential, so I shall do my best." His deep brown eyes gleamed with amusement as he looked at the assassin. "And I suppose you will console the maiden?"

"I could not let such a beauty remain in such a poor mood, now, can I? Besides, anger lines are like frown lines: good to smooth away with fingers, better to smooth away with lips." Ignoring Ezio's snort, he began to make his way to where the woman was furiously scrubbing at the bar with a cloth, muttering to herself.

_Now to prove how ridiculously awesome I truly am._

_._

* * *

.

.

**_Included characters:_**

_Proprietor: __**Death **__from Terry Pratchett's __**Discworld**_or **_Darksiders II_**_  
Granddaughter: __**Susan Sto Helit **__(from Terry Pratchett's __**Discworld**__)  
__**Zevran Arainai**__: Assassin from __**Dragon Age**__ series  
__**Ezio Auditore**__: Assassin from __**Assassin's Creed**__ series  
Bouncer: ? (not yet revealed)_

_Honorable mention:_

**_John Marston_**_: Gunslinger from _Read Dead Redemption


	3. Ladies' Night

_A/N: This is a story with very little plot. I just wanted to have a wee bit of fun with various parts of the video game universe, and a request was made that fit my nascent desire to be a bit silly with the Inn Between Loads._

_Character List at the end. Enjoy!_

.

.

* * *

.

It was _not_ a quiet night at the Inn Between Loads.

For one thing, the normal skeletal proprietor had once more handed his duties to his granddaughter, with the mild admonishment _*Don't pour any more beer over the patrons.*_ Granted, this was advice that the temporary hostess took with a grain of salt, which, fortunately, was preferred over the large scythe she now carried prominently on her back.

Another reason she carried it may have been related to the fact that it had been declared _Ladies' Night_ at the Inn Between Loads.

A particularly buxom brunette had marched in earlier that evening, followed by a tall reptilian fellow with a nasty scar on his face, burdened by a stack of large folded partitions on his back. Crisply she had ordered the fellow to arrange the partitions so that one half of the Inn was separated from the other by delicate pink rice paper in bamboo frames. When the large man had complained that she wasn't his Commander, the woman had only smiled and said, "_No, the Commander is_ mine."

And thus, _Ladies' Night_ had been declared.

Now, all the men - and, let's be honest, the ratio of men to women in the worlds from which they came was certainly not equal - were stuffed into one side of the room, looking with alternating glances of sullenness, longing, and envy as woman after woman disappeared behind the pink barriers. The sales of ale and beer that night grew larger as the night progressed, as each giggle and whisper and laugh made the men want to simultaneously _know what they were talking about_ and _fear to know._

When the laughter was particularly loud, a blond man with spiky hair leaned over to a dark man who was, incongruously, wearing sunglasses, and whispered, "What's going on over there, Jensen?"

The man grinned, his perfectly pointed goatee flawless as always as his gaze never wavered from the spectacle that only he could see - at least, in silhouette. Though honestly, for their current activity, a silhouette was _more_than enough. "Something wonderful, Strife."

"Thanks," Cloud replied bitterly. _Where's Rude when you need him? He said those glasses were practically ready…_

Adam didn't answer, engrossed in the goings-on on the other side of the fence.

Suddenly words were discernible from across the barrier, and all the men hushed as a woman's voice said clearly, "It won't get up!" A collective giggle arose among the women as the voice broke through the silence. There was the sound of clothes rustling before she added, "I think it's bent too far out of shape."

A throaty chuckle accompanied the next words as Miranda said, "It might be. John— well, it's just that last night, he might have bent it while we—" More giggles, followed by an exasperated sigh. "Look, just let me look at it." Another general sound of rustling as the men leaned forward on their seats. "There, see? No problem at all."

There was the sound of sudden panting, accompanied by a general licking of the lips - or mandibles, or beaks - on the outside. "Too… tight!" a high-pitched voice said. "Oh, this is worse than that time with Don Corneo!"

Adam couldn't help but notice Cloud's glower, but everyone else just became more interested.

"Now, now, you'll get used to it. Just keep breathing, and the tightness will slowly fade," Miranda suggested. "Here, let me try yours." Some more rustling as the men leaned forward yet some more, and then another collective of giggles and some laughter. "Well, this is unexpected."

"'Tis perfectly predictable," another voice pointed out. "One need only look at the bodies in question to notice whether 'twould be an adequate match or not."

"Thank you, Morrigan," Miranda replied coolly. "I think I figured that out. Hand me the bracers." Another few moments of clinking and rustling, and another round of giggles and snorts. "My goodness! Are they supposed to be this… clingy?"

Since her panting had lessened - apparently she _had_ gotten used to whatever the sensation was that made her pant - Tifa answered, "Not down there, no. It appears that we are matched but in reverse."

"I can help you with that, darlin'," another woman offered, the hint of pirate in her tone. "From what I can see, I think I could take both of you on and come out on top."

The synchronized mandible-licking once again commenced in the masculine side of the hall.

"Ah, no, thank you, Isabela. I think we have enough data now to scientifically make the point or not." Another round of giggles.

"Oh, I think we should call in the judge now," Isabela said. "Can't have a contest without a real judge, now, can we?"

"Ah, ah— who?" TIfa managed, down to only a light panting now.

Finally a head poked around the end of the barrier, and the men could see a tantalizing view Miranda in a close-fitting sleeveless black leather vest as she scanned the suddenly disinterested men for someone in particular. "Perfect. Joachim!"

"Oh, goody!" The tall vampire stood up, his perfect physique gleaming golden in the candlelight. "I'm right here, darling! Let me help you!" As he disappeared behind the partition, he cried, "Oh, Master! A man's road is a_hard_ one!"

A shared sigh echoed through the remaining men, and they all raised their hands for a new drink as they were now forced to listen to the one man present allowed into the bevy of beauties - the man who was even now gushing about _"that _fabulous_ Ezio Auditore, oh that _accent_, darling!"_

It proved to be a long, long night.

.

* * *

.

Characters (in sorta by appearance order):

**Susan Sto Helit** (seen previously)  
**Miranda Lawson** from _Mass Effect_  
**Urdnot Wrex** from _Mass Effect_  
**Adam Jensen** from _Deus Ex: Human Revolution  
_**Cloud Strife**from _Final Fantasy VII  
_**Joachim Valentine** from _Shadow Hearts: Covenant_

Voices of:

**Tifa Lockhart** from _Final Fantasy VII  
_**Morrigan** from_ Dragon Age  
_**Isabela**from _Dragon Age_


	4. Dragon Effect

Zevran Arainai rubbed at the stinging line on his neck as he passed through the door to the _Inn Between Loads_, muttering, "I must be losing my touch." As had become the game between them, the huge hand appeared in front of him, palm up, waiting to be filled with his weapons. "You are so picky," he complained with a grin, and once again divested himself of his assorted weaponry. "Although today, I have very minimal weapons. The Warden didn't even bother to wake me up this time. Ah, so sad."

These words earned him a semi-sympathetic grunt, but the hand did not move.

Heaving a sigh, he said conversationally, "Someday you are going to have to tell me how you can tell I'm not done yet." Reaching down, he removed the curved dagger from the curl of his boot's cuff and placed it on the pile in the huge monstrosity of a paw. "There. Satisfied? Or, at least, as much as you can be without one of my special Antivan massages?"

The bouncer answered with a grunt as the hand finally moved, and Zevran shrugged as he entered. "Have it your way."

As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he looked around the Inn, hoping to catch a glimpse of some familiar faces. Sadly, the Italian assassin Ezio and his new compatriot, the shy but adorable Connor, were not present. Neither were some of his other Inn-only acquaintances. _Ah, well. It would have been nice to have a drink with John and his odd hat or Adam and his peculiar glasses. Time to make some new friends, I suppose._

"Are you sure this is the right place?"

He turned at the sound of a woman's voice, a broad smile already on his face out of sheer principle, then took a step back as he saw the woman's tall, scar-faced companion. Of course, it was not the scars that first drew attention, but the fact that the individual wasn't human, elf, or dwarf. Tall, thin, with an almost mandibular mouth and chitinous skin... _My _word_, who - and what - is he... or she?_ He pursed his lips. _And do they like massage?_

"The ones in the Omega Nebula are shut down for repairs ever since the fanbase blew up," the second figure said, his voice confirming that he was, in fact, male. "This is the right sector and coordinates. Looks like we're stuck here for now, Ash."

The woman sighed, handing a helmet and a much larger version of what he'd learned was called a blaster than he'd ever seen over to the hulking bouncer. "Fine. And it's Ashley, not Ash, or I'll start calling you Gar."

"Please. Don't." They continued their companionable bickering until they sat down at a nearby table, ordering their drinks from the skeletal bartender. Once they were settled, the tall, odd looking one commented, "Miranda said _she_ liked it here during the last reboot."

_Miranda? Oh, I remember _her, _indeed._ Zevran straightened his leather armor and approached the pair, making sure his hands were in the open since both clearly had the air of 'alert soldier'. "Ah, greetings! I couldn't help but overhear that you were new to this particular establishment. And did you mention the divine Miranda?"

The woman snorted. "Oh, look, another man dazzled by Miranda's 'assets'." Her face reflected more good humor than her voice, but it_ was_ present, at least. "And I suppose you want to show us the ropes here out of the kindness of your heart?"

"Now, Ashley, we _are_ the invaders here, so to speak," the other one said. Standing, he held out a hand whose two thick fingers and thumb absolutely fascinated the elf. "You can call me Garrus. This is Ashley."

"Zevran." He kept to a shortened introduction to match the brevity of theirs as he exchanged a quick handshake. "So, may I join you?"

Ashely sighed. "Sure, why not? I just want to get back to Shepard. He needs me."

Pausing in the act of sitting down, Garrus frowned. "We've had this discussion before. Shepard is a woman - a beautiful one."

"I don't know what turian hallucinogen you're ingesting over there, champ, but last I looked, he was definitely packing something that didn't match my own equipment."

"Odd, because when _I_ last looked, it was definitely something I could sink my-"

The drinks arrived just in the nick of time, the skeleton with the white glow deep in his eye sockets setting them onto the table with just enough force to be audible, including something for Zevran - Antivan brandy, naturally. He nodded at the bartender before returning his attention to the duo in front of him, now looking at each other with a bit of mulishness in their demeanor. "So, to one of you this _Shepard_ is a man, and to the other a woman? Has this never come up in the... Omega Nebula, I believe you said?"

Garrus shrugged as he picked up a metal glass with a strange, foaming concoction within. "We didn't arrive here together. She was standing outside the door-"

"I was _trying_ to find something more specific than _Inn_ on the sign! Like I said, I wasn't sure this was the right place." She gripped her own drink and took a quick pull from it. "And even in the Omega Nebula, we rarely ran into each other." She shrugged. "Although I've noticed I never run into Kaidan over there. Odd..." Her face frowned as she tried to figure out why.

"Well, I think I can describe this Shepard, though I've never met him - or her," Zevran said with a grin, leaning back in his seat. "Strong, decisive, a true leader, and destined to save the... ah, galaxy, I think was the word Miranda used. Has a unique feature about them, in the form of power or knowledge to which only they have access. Possesses an astonishing knack to get out of situations everyone else would call impossible. Oh, and also attractive and a good lover, yes?"

They stared at him, both caught in the position of their drinks raised halfway to their lips. "How did you-" Garrus clinked his glass down on the table. "I thought you didn't know her."

"_Him," _Ashley hissed.

"Ah, but you see, I know someone just like him - ah, her, though I always call that one 'the Warden.' And sometimes they're a human, or an elf - such as I - or a dwarf - a short human, if you've never met one - and sometimes he's a male, and sometimes she's a woman.: He blinked at their confused faces. "Ah, surely you've realized the nature of the Hero? Sadly, we never see them here, just as we never remember our time here when we return."

"But the Illusive Man said it was just a Reaper-" Ashley began, then stopped and gritted her teeth. "Listen to me. I'd rather jump out of an airlock in flight or ride the Mako with Wrex behind the controls before believing anything _he_ said ever again."

Garrus, meanwhile, had drained his cup empty and held it aloft. "More!"

"Zev?" a familiar voice said from behind him.

"Alistair, my good friend! Come, join us!" He patted the man's shoulder in sympathy as he sat down, noticing a similar line on the man's neck as he'd had when first entering. "Ah, an ambitious Cousland, I take it?"

"Tell me about it," he grimaced as he signaled the bartender for his usual spiced dwarven mead. "Much as I dislike the bastard, I have a feeling he's going to feed Loghain to the Archdemon, too. Poor sod. He'll be there to comfort Anora, no doubt." He sighed and sat back in his chair, starting to take off his greaves. "Give me a nice, gentle Surana any Blight, I'm telling you. Preferably a beautiful one. I'm not a Templar any more, after all." His face was a bit wistful.

Zevran chuckled, then quickly made introductions around the table. "I was just telling them the nature of the Inn. Apparently, they've been getting false information from one of their acquaintances about the nature of these places." He looked at Ashley to ask a question, but noticed that she was muttering into the depths of her drink and turned to Garrus instead. "So, this is the _Inn Between Loads_ here. What is the one you normally, ah, frequent, hmm?"

"Oh, there's a couple. My favorite is _In Flux_, but Wrex swears by _To Eternity and Beyond._" He shrugged as the bartender brought his refill and Alistair's drink, then left quietly. "Both must be out of commission right now, though." His face grew thoughtful. "So, can you kill someone in one of these places?"

"I'd _really_ like to know," snapped Ashley. "I've got the perfect candidate in mind."

"Ah... You know, I've never attempted it," Zevran admitted. "I wouldn't suggest it, particularly in this establishment. The bartender-"

They all looked at the tall hooded and cloaked skeleton with the depths of infinity in his eyes.

"Ah, good point." Garrus nodded. "You know, it's a bit odd, but he looks exactly like the bartender at _In Flux_."

"And the one at _To Eternity and Beyond." _She raised an eyebrow as Garrus looked at her. "What? It's peaceful there. I get tired of all the death and killing, you know."

Sensing an opening, Zevran smiled and leaned forward. "You know, I am rather skilled at the art of massage. Perhaps I could help ease some of that terrible tension of yours."

She drained her cup, then put it on the table. "Like I'm supposed to trust you."

"He really is quite good, you know," Alistair put in, a bit surprisingly. "I've never seen any of the Wardens be anything _but_ relaxed and satisfied after a session with him, and I've seen plenty."

"Really?" She reached up and massaged her neck. "It has been a bit stressful on the Normandy..."

"I'll even use a massage oil of your choice, yes?" He stood and offered her a hand. "Come. Once you've had an Antivan massage, the whole aftergame will be a delightful place, I promise you."

Ashley hesitated a moment more, looking at Zevran, then at the helpful, completely earnest Alistair. Finally she shrugged. "What's the worst that can happen?" she grumped. "All right, lead on."

Zevran stood and bowed, then led the way back to the room that was his by standing arrangement. After all, Susan, the bartender's granddaughter, enjoyed an Antivan massage herself on occasion...

Behind them, Garrus leaned over and whispered to Alistair, "Is he really that good?"

Alistair chuckled as he picked up his mead. "Let's just say he knows where to apply the right pressure and leave it at that."

Garrus thought about it. "Ashley does very well under pressure, I've noticed."

"There, see? Shouldn't be a problem then. Now, drink up, you never know when the call will come, do you?" He took a deep pull and smacked his lips, then blinked as he looked at the entrance. "What is _that?"_

Garrus turned just as the newcomer, a floating blob with dangling tentacles, asked the bouncer, "This one would like to know if this establishment accepts credits as compensation."

With a sigh, he also drained his glass of Full Biotic Kick before leaning forward. "This might take a while..."


End file.
